


Heart in Her Eyes

by demi_god_ing



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff and Angst, I have no idea, POV Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Sharing a Bed, Soft Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), it's mostly fluff really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:28:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26279449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demi_god_ing/pseuds/demi_god_ing
Summary: Five times Lucifer woke in bed alone, and one time he didn't. Spans the entirety of the TV show canon (up through season 5A).
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 24
Kudos: 255





	Heart in Her Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> This idea came to me in the middle of the night while I was half asleep and would not leave me alone. The sweetness rots even my teeth, but honestly, it's the show's own fault for giving us Deckerstar moments so adorable my heart quite simply couldn't handle it. Come scream with me on tumblr at demi-god-ing.

The morning after Lucifer Morningstar met Chloe Decker, he woke alone in his bed. He’d only slept a couple hours––the police hadn’t left Lux until just before dawn spread her pink fingers across the Los Angeles skyline––but Lucifer needed to be up early in time to crash Jimmy Barnes’s wedding. Personally, Lucifer thought morning weddings were boring––they reminded him too much of Regency England, when couples married early enough in the day to have a wedding breakfast after mass. Tacky.

It was an unusual feeling, waking up in an empty bed. In the five years since he’d come to Los Angeles, Lucifer realized, he’d never woken alone. Normally, he would have had somebody gorgeous and naked next to him, perhaps multiple somebodies. He’d reach over beneath the silk sheets to find skin and trace his long, pianist fingers up spines, just so that they’d roll towards him and blink slowly, sleepily, into his face. Lucifer loved many things about human bodies (it was an ever-increasing list), but human eyes had to be his favorite. No other creature he’d encountered revealed so much in their eyes. He liked to watch the surprise flicker there when they saw him, realized he hadn’t been a dream, realized he really had fulfilled their every desire the night before. It fed his ego.

But lying there in bed that morning, there were no eyes to meet. There hadn’t been much time (or, shockingly, inclination, if he was being completely honest) to find someone to take with him to bed the night before. Murder and the police had effectively driven all his club patrons away, and Lucifer went to sleep thinking only of the detective who’d questioned him at the piano. Given he’d fallen asleep thinking of her, it seemed only logical to Lucifer that he think of her as he woke. He conjured her face in his mind, the angles of her cheekbones and the line of her jaw, the way her lips pursed at what she assumed were his theatrics. And her eyes––blue, irritated, unamused. There were very few people who were not amused by Lucifer. He thought it one of his most charming qualities, that he could amuse almost anyone at any given moment. Most humans seemed to appreciate it.

He was going to investigate Delilah’s murder for several reasons, the main one being that he didn’t like other people messing with his humans. How would he ever call in his favors if all the people who owed him started dying left and right? And what would happen to his reputation? It was unconscionable. Delilah would never be able to do what he’d asked of her now that she was dead, and Lucifer wanted to know who was responsible.

But he could also admit that he had ulterior motives. He was bound to run into that detective if he were investigating her case. And Lucifer wanted to see her eyes again, see if they’d stay irritated and unamused or if he could make her laugh. He was curious if her eyes would crinkle at the corners. He wanted to find out what secrets she hid there, what desires he could make reality.

Lucifer climbed from bed smiling to himself and went in search of the perfect suit.

***

Like the gentleman he was perfectly capable of being should the occasion really, truly call for it, Lucifer had slept on the couch after the detective had drunkenly stripped and stolen his bed. He had, naturally, been tempted to sleep next to her, but she’d flung her legs about so she was diagonal across his mattress and, really, it would just have been too much hassle to nudge her to one side so he could stretch out his own long body on the other. Plus, she snored. This normally wouldn’t have bothered Lucifer––at this point, he’d had enough bedfellows who did various odd things while sleeping that he could sleep through practically anything––but there was something strangely vexing about the detective in particular snoring, so he’d decided to leave her be and made himself a bed on his couch.

He woke early, light flooding in from the balcony. For a moment, he wasn’t sure if he’d actually turned the detective down when she’d so clumsily come on to him. The part of his brain that was still half asleep was sure he was in his own bed with her beside him. He could see the image perfectly in his mind––he’d open his eyes and turn his head and the detective would be there, still asleep, still snoring, her blond hair spread across the black pillowcase, and he’d wake her like he always woke his bedfellows, with fingers sliding against bare skin. She’d jolt awake and her blue eyes would open to meet his and she’d smile––

The image froze. Lucifer opened his eyes for real to stare up at his ceiling. She probably wouldn’t smile. In fact, she’d probably be bloody irritated to find herself in his bed, and an irritated detective had quickly become one of his favorite things.

Lucifer grinned to himself and, like the gentleman he absolutely was _not_ , went to sit by his bed to wait for her to wake. The plan formed quickly: she would, of course, assume that they’d slept together, and he would, of course, let her. She’d be horrified and angry and her eyes would flash at him like they did when he was unprofessional around suspects. And then imagine her surprise when he pulled the rug out from under her and informed her that _they hadn’t slept together_. Lucifer chuckled to himself. Her face would be brilliant. He liked surprising the detective almost as much as he liked provoking her.

He jumped to his feet as it occurred to him that she might like a hangover-curing drink, and he bustled to his espresso machine to make her one. As the coffee tumbled into its cup, he went in search of his flask. Drinks in hand and black robe belted, he returned to his chair and settled in to wait for his detective to wake.

***

It was ironic, Lucifer thought as he opened his eyes, that the Devil––desire incarnate––would wake alone because his wife had chosen to sleep elsewhere. Of course, Candy wasn’t a real wife, but that wasn’t the point. Lucifer prided himself on keeping his sexual partners happy and sated, and if he really had been married, his spouse would most certainly sleep in his bed, if only because they would be too tired at the end of the night to crawl off to anywhere else.

If he was being completely honest, Lucifer had felt a bit––well, Dr. Linda probably would have called the emotion _abandoned_ , but Lucifer was more inclined to call it _stung_. It certainly wasn’t anything so dramatic as _abandoned_. He and Candy had been ensconced in the penthouse, plotting their next moves with both Lucifer’s mother and the detective, eating ice cream and drinking like they had the first night they’d met. Candy had looked at her phone, gasped at the time, and proclaimed that she was late. She had a friend in Los Angeles she was supposed to meet, and she told Lucifer she’d stay the night with them. For a moment, Lucifer had wanted to protest––suppose his mother or the detective came by in the morning to find Lucifer without his new wife?––but he’d backed away from the inclination quickly. Candy didn’t owe him _all_ of her time, after all. She deserved to have some to herself.

She’d waved at him as the elevator closed and then Lucifer had been alone in the penthouse. He’d gathered the empty container of ice cream, thrown it in the garbage, and poured himself a drink at the bar. He stood there for a while, staring into space. Then he paced to the piano. Then back to the bar for another two fingers of whiskey.

It was impossible not to think of the detective. His mind wandered to her of its own accord, no matter how hard he tried to think of anything else. In his head, she was standing in front of him on the beach, going up on her toes to kiss him as the waves came in, or she was rolling her head towards him in her hospital bed, alive and smiling and touching his hand and _alive alive alive_. But it was all… _tainted_. Lucifer didn’t know what was her and what was his father, pulling little marionette strings from up in the Silver City like some sort of holy puppeteer.

He was bombarded by the same thoughts that morning as he woke alone in his bed. He lifted his hands to his face and pressed them against his eyes to will the tension away. He wished there was someone next to him. If only Candy had stayed. He wanted human eyes to look into, human eyes that were so terrible at hiding what the mind behind them was thinking. He wanted irritation and softness and outrage and affection. He trusted human eyes––they didn’t lie. Or, at least, they didn’t lie on purpose.

Lucifer dragged himself out of bed and headed back towards the bar.

***

When Lucifer woke, he wished he hadn’t. He was alone, as he had been every morning for the past three weeks since the detective had disappeared. He closed his eyes and tried to will himself back to sleep. Archangels didn’t really need that much sleep––he could go weeks without if he had to––but sleep was the only place where the detective hadn’t seen his true face. In sleep, things were normal. In sleep, she smiled at him, touched him absentmindedly without any fear, looked him in the eyes without worrying what she’d find looking back at her. In sleep, Cain was gone, his interference in their lives erased. In sleep, Charlotte was alive and still working to be better, and even Dan was happy. In sleep, their lives sailed on without a hitch.

In the waking world, the detective was gone, their routine upended. In the waking world, Lucifer arrived at crime scenes and looked for her while Ella walked him through her findings before cutting herself off when she noticed he wasn’t paying attention. In the waking world, Ella made a sympathetic sound and offered to hug him and Lucifer skittered out of reach, making uncomfortable eye contact with an angry, grief-stricken Dan as Lucifer ducked under the police tape and headed back towards his car. In the waking world, Lucifer returned to Lux and sat at the piano and drank and smoked and played and sang until the club emptied and it was time for him to go to sleep again.

Lucifer could see her face behind his closed eyelids, her blue eyes twin beacons beneath the slashes of her eyebrows. Things were better in sleep.

***

Lucifer woke to the smell of ash. His sheets were black silk, and for a moment he pretended that he was in his penthouse in Los Angeles. He would swing his legs from bed, shrug his robe on, and head to the bar for his morning drink. His phone would ring at some point, and it would be the detective calling because she had a case, and he’d dress and head out to meet her at the crime scene. She would be waiting there and she would look beautiful, her blond hair pulled back in a ponytail or a bun or perhaps left in gentle waves that brushed past her shoulders. She’d turn to greet him, her blue eyes sparking with irritation that he was late or gratitude that he’d brought coffee. They’d banter, he’d make her laugh and then he’d make her angry, and the breath would jump in his chest each time she looked at him.

She loved him. Lucifer pressed a hand over his eyes. She loved him and he was lying in a bed in _Hell_ because his ridiculous demons had rebelled against him–– _him_ , _Lucifer_ , the Devil _himself_ ––and stolen his brother and his therapist’s bloody _baby_ and Lucifer couldn’t very well let demons wreak havoc on the Earth and take his brother and his therapist’s baby with them. Despite what the Catholic church and Father McKinley would have people believe, Lucifer didn’t really want the world destroyed. Where would all the humans live? Where would _she_ live?

Lucifer sighed through his nose and sat up. There was work to be done––Hell loops to monitor and demons to keep in line. He shuffled to the mirror on the wall across from his bed and peered into his own eyes. They were brown. Flat. Dr. Linda had once told him that his emotions often played openly across his face, that, though at times he was impossible to read, at others it was all too easy. Lucifer wasn’t sure if he believed her. His eyes were angel eyes, emotionless and impenetrable. They were the eyes God had wanted him to have. There were no desires, no objections in them, just duty––endless, unquestioning duty. Even after rebelling, Lucifer had done his duty as warden of Hell. Most of the time, at least.

Never in his long, long life had Lucifer wanted to shirk his duty more. She loved him. And he was stuck in bloody _Hell_. Again.

Lucifer lifted his chin and set his jaw and watched as his reflection did the same. He reached up to begin the process of fixing his rumpled hair. He put on his suit and tied his shoes and arranged his pocket square and stood to adjust his cuffs until they were even. He returned to the mirror for one last look and it hit him again.

Chloe loved him.

As he turned away to begin his day, there was a glimmer of something in the corner of his brown eyes. Lucifer pretended not to see it.

***

She was snoring when Lucifer woke, but that wasn’t what had pulled him from sleep. There was light everywhere, flooding through the thin curtains that veiled the windows around his bedroom and creeping in thin tendrils across the sheets. He blinked for a moment as his eyes adjusted and he listened to her snore. It was shocking that his detective could produce such a dramatic sound. She was usually fairly quiet, thoughtful, always observing before she acted, but in sleep she was none of these things. She snored like an Albanian field wench, he’d told her that first time she’d slept off her drunken stupor in his bed, and it was still true. She hogged the covers (this was fine with Lucifer, really, because he ran hot anyways). Her limbs seemed to have minds of their own as she tossed and turned, round and round in circles in the bed.

And yet Lucifer had slept better than he had in ages, literal millennia, that night. Perhaps it was because she’d tired him out (really, the things they’d done would have tired anybody out, even a celestial being).

Lucifer didn’t think on it for long. He turned his head to find her lying on her side, her chin almost touching his shoulder. Her snoring had died off for the time being and they were nose to nose. He released a slow breath from between his lips and watched as it disturbed several strands of blond hair that had fallen over her cheek. Her dark lashes fluttered gently against the tops of her cheekbones. Lucifer reached out a tentative hand to brush the hair away from her face and then let his fingertips linger.

He wasn’t sure what time it was––early, certainly, judging by the light. Too early to wake her, and besides, he was still tired enough that he could go right back to sleep if he just shut his eyes. Instead he kept watching her, his eyes tracking circles around her face and down her neck to watch her chest rise and fall as she breathed.

He stayed like that for several minutes with their noses almost brushing and his fingertips resting on the high arch of her cheekbone. And then she let out a loud, inelegant snore and rolled––no, flailed was perhaps a more accurate term––away from him, taking the covers with her and nearly falling off the edge of the bed in the process. Lucifer laughed before he could stop himself and then clapped a hand over his mouth. He didn’t want to wake her just yet.

He fell back asleep like that, one hand over his mouth, the other arm thrown over his eyes to block out the early morning light. He fell asleep imagining what it would be like to wake in another hour or two, at a more acceptable time, when he would reach one hand out to run fingertips up her spine and across her collarbones until she woke and pinned him with her blue eyes. He fell asleep imagining the thoughts he’d read there. Lucifer smiled to himself.


End file.
